


let me be your witness

by sherlocked10097



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, RP format, Seb is dead, Sheriarty - Freeform, mormor, short but sweet, that's very sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-07-11 22:34:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7073179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlocked10097/pseuds/sherlocked10097
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few days after an argument, Sherlock finds Jim in a sad place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	let me be your witness

I'd like to see you. -JM

  
I suppose it is your turn to tell me what an idiot I am. -SH

  
No. -JM  
I'll rephrase. -JM  
Sort of need you. -JM

  
[Delay]  Address? -SH

  
I'm at Brompton Cemetery. -JM

  
Oh. -SH

  
[Delay] It's stupid, couldn't even use his real name on it. -JM  
Should've anyway. -JM

  
I'll be there soon. -SH

  
Ok. -JM 

  
Sherlock had gone most of his life without knowing loss. Redbeard, when he was a boy, still stung if he were to dwell too long. And then there was nothing, for decades, until Jim "died".

  
If he'd had a grave, Sherlock would've haunted it as well. But since Jim had returned, he'd almost forgotten how all-consuming that despair was. And he hadn't even been with the criminal two years. What was that compared to ten of more "advanced" companionship?

  
Sherlock had taken a cab most of the way, then ducked into the tube and walked a block or two underground to the closest outlet to the cemetery. Not the most sneaky of measures, but he'd left the signature coat at home for a slimming black jacket and trousers.

  
Regardless of the chaos  he'd thrust his own life into, _loss_ took priority. He strode through the rows and rows of gray stones sweeping by until he'd found the more recent additions. There, sitting against the one he could only assume was Moran's, was where he found Jim. "Hey," he said, eyes struggling not to linger. But it was hard. There was something so accessible about his lover now. So... _human_ , in a way he'd only seen him once or twice.

  
-

  
Sebastian probably liked it better this way, Jim reasoned - he could talk all he liked about Sherlock, and Seb didn't really listen to it. But somehow it still felt like he did. Who else was there to talk to when things were so strange? But it may have contributed to the fear. If he could lose one of them so easily, why not the other? Horrible. It chilled him.  
But there was a good deal of comfort to be found in knowing that all he had to say was 'need' and there Sherlock would be, no matter their differences.

  
Jim kept his eyes dully peeled for the other for a little while before closing them, head resting against the etched letters spelling Thomas Gunner. The light crunch of footfalls and the quiet greeting pulled him from his reverie, though not up - once he'd sat down in this spot, he found it difficult to get up again - and when his eyes opened they were tinged with red. "Hey." His throat felt dry so he cleared it, settling his gaze on beautiful Sherlock, offering  a halfhearted attempt at a smile. "Sorry...Morbid place for an impromptu date..."

  
-

  
Sherlock wet his lips. "This isn't a date," he said softly, kneeling down, shuffling to sit beside Jim. Their shoulders touched, providing him a place to lean. "Tommy Gun," he mused aloud. "Clever. I'm sure he'd appreciate it.

  
-

  
So it wasn't a good time to try to be funny, after all. But Jim had known that before trying, deep down. He sighed in solemn contentment at Sherlock's comprehension. "You get it," he murmured in relief, tilting his head so it could rest on Sherlock's shoulder, one hand between them and the other idly kneading the grass in front of the tombstone, dirtying his fingertips. He smiled once, blinking, working on reshaping his perspective around Sherlock's presence, rather than Sebastian's absence. "I didn't plan to be here so long." What had it been, two hours? He'd meant to spend fifteen minutes, tops. Oh, how hazes settled, and tended to cloud.

  
-

  
Sherlock wound an arm around Jim's shoulders, hand traveling up and carding through his hair. "Grief doesn't work on a schedule," he murmured, head overlaying his companion's.

  
-

  
Jim shuddered at the touch as if it pained him, and it did insofar as finding it so fucking necessary. He exhaled a long breath, nodding as lightly as he could lest Sherlock be dislodged. "Sage words..." He let his eyes slip closed again. "S'just...He always used to know what to say to make me laugh, when I needed one. I miss that."

  
-

  
It prickled, at the bottom of his heart. Sherlock wasn't exactly the humorous type. Didn't expect to be everything Jim ever needed, but now...Now, he needed them both. "What do you think he'd say?"

  
-

  
Breathing out a soft, sad laugh, Jim raised and dropped his shoulders in a shrug. "I dunno," he admitted. _Seb_ was the one that always knew, and trying to imagine it only made Jim remember his broad, bright grin, and he felt his throat tighten all over again. God, what a waste of Sherlock's time. He swallowed thickly, turning his head just enough to eye his beloved. "How're you. Aside from _Brother dear_."

  
-

  
Too quick of a transition. He'd heard the slightest of cracks in  Jim's voice...The ache was real, palpable. He leaned their foreheads together. "I'm fine. Please don't worry about me."

  
-

  
Jim wanted to say, _You made me worry about you, about us, for days_. But it bordered on irrelevant now that he knew why, and Sherlock was putting Jim first for the moment. Somehow it made him feel even weaker. Pitiful. "I'll try not to," he promised, nuzzling his forehead against Sherlock's in some effort to steal whatever strength he could from quiet, living love.

  
-

  
Sherlock tilted his head up, lightly brushing Jim's forehead with his own. "I love you." It had been true the entire time, of course, but he hadn't been confident enough to say it since Jim had returned. But needed a way to say, _let me worry for you._

  
-

  
The fog may not have cleared entirely with those words, but Jim could feel it begin to disperse. If Sebastian really were listening, how would he feel about it? Disgusted? Good, maybe? Glad for Jim, or was he a more vengeful ghost than that? Jim's heart wrenched hard then felt like it was finally beating again, a kickstart, because he could probably believe Sherlock wasn't going to slip away just because of their argument. His clean hand rose between them to Sherlock's neck, chin tilting up as he found the other's lips, pressed his own against them for a long, grateful few moments. When he pulled back, his eyes were sadly earnest. "Thanks for that."

  
-

  
Lips were soft, yielding. But Sherlock still felt somehow parted, an unspoken barrier as they both tried to protect themselves from the pains obvious and otherwise. "Always."

  
-

  
It was something. Perhaps enough. Jim gave a tight smile, more real than the one before it. His thumb tapped the side of Sherlock's neck in thought. "Should we...um. Do you want to see the new flat?" To Sherlock it may have felt rushed but Jim had been here long enough that his chat with Sebastian's memory was more or less concluded. Feeling marginally better or not, he preferred yet not to be alone.

  
-

  
"If you'd like," Sherlock replied. He'd never been one to talk wih slabs of granite and decomposing flesh. His mission for now centered around Jim. But he didn't get up, instead tapping at the little bottle of whiskey in the grass. Unopened, he observed. "I've heard of people pouring alcohol over graves before. Is that what it's for?"

  
-

  
First instinct was to _snatch_ the bottle, because it was Seb's, and so Jim made up for that silly thought by reclaiming it very gingerly from beneath Sherlock's fingers as he nodded, looking down, embarrassed by the pointlessness of the gesture. "Yeah, I...figured if he's stuck listening to me whine even in the afterlife, he could use a drink," Jim explained, giving Sherlock a nudge with his elbow. "Let's get up, don't wanna get it all over us."

  
-

  
Protective. Noted. "Alright," Sherlock said, standing slowly, offering Jim his hand once he was on sure footing. "For Sebastian."

  
-

  
Jim reached out, groaning softly as his knees protested the rising. "For Sebastian," he repeated just above a whisper, opting to be touched rather than furious that Sherlock was joining in even though he had no real sense or need to. He stepped over to edge Sherlock back a couple steps, and it was soon obvious why. Rather than uncap the bottle, Jim swung his arm back, gathering momentum before bringing the glass down hard against the top of the stone.

  
The resulting shatter was small but beautiful to Jim as he tilted his head, watching the drips of booze travel down the alias and to the ground.

  
He blew kisses mentally, and tried not to choke up again.

  
He dropped the portion of the bottle he still had, and reached again for Sherlock's hand. "Alright. We can go."


End file.
